Warming to the slow wake. I swallow another ghost from your delicious cup. The perfume of ever lingers in here. And the clouds begin to heal themselves. A corduroy child might be content with cigarette smoke devouring time. But that is not to be our fate. Let me come down to celebrate your smile
In which a long-time record collector and sometimes poet shares shares vinyl finds, words of worth, and plays keep or cull.
